


Helpless

by HappyKonny



Category: Youtube RPF, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Depressing Thoughts, Oneshot, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 18:53:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10703031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyKonny/pseuds/HappyKonny
Summary: Projecting my feelings onto Mark, sorry.When drowning in thoughts, telling you everything bad about you, you find yourself helpless.





	Helpless

Sitting in his chair, Mark stared at the screen. He had already recorded today, his videos for the day were already up, the comments flooded with spam bots and giveaway bots, barely making anyone able to find comments regarding the video. He gave up trying to find anything after a while, after the tenth comment just begging for subscribers with false promises to lure them in. Now he just stared at the screen, headset on his head, but nothing playing.  
He usually was standing when doing anything on his PC, but right now he was sitting. He felt tired, exhausted, but he knew sleeping wouldn't fix anything. His mind was just so tired, too tired to know what it wanted, too tired to know what to do and what not. So he just stared blankly at the screen, his mind empty of any thoughts.

He absentmindedly scratched his arm, his nails finding the crust of healing wounds. He could feel them peeling off, inflicting slight pain. He looked towards his arm, watched his fingers work, re-opening the wound. A little bit of blood gathered in a droplet, which Mark watched, before taking a tissue and wiping it away.  
The slight pain his scratching had provided had distracted his mind for a moment, and now it searched for reasons to inflict _more_ pain. His mind tried to find reasons, any reasons for making him feel bad, to give him a reason to inflict physical pain on himself.  
There were people out there who felt worse than he did. Struggling with mental illnesses, with the unfairness of the world, struggling to stay alive. And he had it so easy compared to them, but here he was, feeling bad without reason.  
He wasn't even that good at what he did for a living. Sure, there were worse channels out there, but he most certainly wasn't a really good one. He could come up with dozen of reasons why so many people subscribed to him even if he wasn't good.  
He wasn't happy with how he looked, he should start working out again. Go back to climbing maybe, or just go out for running sometimes. But he didn't and still complained quietly to himself, never doing anything.

More and more reasons piled up in his head, and he sunk down further into his chair. He knew thinking this wouldn't help, it would do nothing for him. But he couldn't help himself from drowning in these thoughts, letting them sweep over him and wash him away. His hand had laid on his arm, and he was digging his nails into it by now. He knew he wouldn't be able to draw blood with his nails though, he wouldn't cause real harm to his body.  
Standing up, he felt almost like on autopilot. Walking to the bathroom, were he knew he kept his razor he shaved with and took care of his beard. He knew he had a whole pack of razorblades there as well. He found himself pulling one out of the package, taking it out of it's paper it was wrapped in. He looked at it, fiddling around with it in his hand. He walked back to his recording room, not taking his gaze off of the blade, his mind swirling.

Should he do it? Should he cut open the skin on his arm, not deep enough to leave behind scars, not deep enough to be dangerous at all? Should he make wounds he wouldn't know how to explain? He didn't know what to do, he knew he shouldn't do it, it wouldn't help anything. But at the same time, he wanted to. To feel the pain, see the blood gather and stain a tissue in the end.  
Setting the razorblade onto his skin, he applied slight pressure and drew a line. It hurt, until the blade left his skin. He watched how his skin opened, soon becoming red and the pain fading in again. Droplets of blood gathered in the cut, not enough to run over his skin, staying where they were. Before they started to dry, Mark took the already stained tissue from before and wiped the blood away. New blood gathered soon, which he wiped away once more. He pressed the tissue against the cut, letting the blade rest on its paper wrapping, leaning back in his chair.

His mind scolded him for what he did, telling him he shouldn't have done that. And he felt slightly bad for it, but accepted the other part of his mind that told him he deserved more pain than that. But he wouldn't do it again. Not now, at least. Because for now, he felt better, his thoughts quieter. Maybe he could watch some videos now, which would take his mind off of everything.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is more or less how it was for me to first cut. And it still often feels just like this.  
> That's mostly why I wrote this. I don't even know why exactly. I just felt like nothing, staring into nothingness, not thinking.  
> I hope, if you feel like this, or similar, that you'll get better. Don't give up, okay?  
> Let's stay strong together, even if there will sometimes be blood. Just don't give up


End file.
